Just a Moment
by RhondaStar
Summary: A sicklysweet oneshot Joe & Clarisse


A short nonsense piece - me indulging my poetic interests... alongwith Joe's sweet tooth that I think he might hide! Don't read if you don't enjoy sickly sweet stories... thanks to Mr. Cummings and the people involved with PD. Please Review!  
x Rhonda

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**Just a Moment**

Joseph stretched his long legs out propping his bare feet on the coffee table and wiggling his toes as the warmth of the open fire caressed the sole of his feet. Now this was contentment, he mused as he opened the book in his lap. A mug of hot chocolate in one hand, a good book to read, the horrid cold, wet weather outside and he safely tucked up here within the Queen's chambers. Well, his chambers as well now.

He took a sip of the sinful sweet liquid and closed his eyes leaning his head back on the couch. The rain battered against the windows, the wind rattled, fighting to get inside. Yet this room was solitude, warmth, comfort, everything he'd come to associate with the good life. Yes after seven months of marriage life was good, life was grand in fact, perfect. He'd never been happier.

He took another sip of his drink and opened the page of his book. He was slowly compiling a personal collection of his favourite poems. Poems he remembered reading as a child, poems that struck a chord, left a tear, brought a smile. Words he recited to himself in the dullest of moments, and over the years there had been a fair few dull moments, standing around waiting, and how slow time went when you were waiting. It may have appeared a pointless activity to many but it was a personal pleasure, a personal pursuit and he was enjoying it.

The click of the door that granted access to the chamber was barely audible and he didn't even lift his head to look over his shoulder. He knew her footsteps; she stood behind him for a few seconds simply taking in the scene before moving closer and resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Good evening." She said warmly kissing his head.

"Good evening my dear. Are you free?" He never even looked up from his book but relished the feel of her hands gently resting on him.

"For now." She fiddled with his collar, stroked his neck with her thumb. "What are you reading this evening?"

"Some Hardy at the moment, poems 1912 to 1913, after his wife died. So much regret…"

"Hmm…" She lifted her hands and moved around the couch, slipping her shoes off and sinking down next to him.

She reached over and took the mug from his hand and settled back wrapping her hands around its warmth and closing her eyes as she took a sip.

"How was it?"

"Sweet."

He allowed himself a smile. "I meant the meeting."

"Oh, exhausting, why is we seem to cover the same ground continually. I lose count of the times I've…" She sighed. "Oh let's not discuss it now. I'm too tired, take my mind off of it."

She leaned sideways until her body rested against his and her head met his shoulder.

"Don't spill that, it's mine." He said glancing down at her sublime face.

"Mmm."

He had no doubt she would be asleep soon. He lifted an arm and draped it over her as he continued reading.

"Regret." She said, her eyes still closed.

"Yes, what about darling?"

"I suspect if you dwell on it too much it will drive you insane, or tear you apart."

"It certainly seems to have done that to old Hardy," He toyed with her hair absently, letting it slide through his fingers. "I don't know, on some points I absolutely adore his writing but on others I struggle."

"In what way?" She lifted her head slightly and took another drink then leant forward and put the mug down on the coffee table before settling back under his arm.

"Well, I mean…" He waited for her to get comfortable again, noted the way she now lifted her legs up onto the couch and dug her feet into the pillow. "He didn't realise how much he loved his wife until she was gone and I can't imagine that."

She smiled. "Hmm, I should certainly hope not."

He kissed the top of her head then returned to his reading.

The silence was blissful, Clarisse sank deeper and deeper into his embrace, her mind drifting as sleep crept upon her. She listened to the sound of Joseph's breathing, the way his chest rose beneath her cheek, the sound of him turning the pages of his book. She'd grown so accustomed to these moments in such a relatively short space of time. She looked forward to their time alone in the evening, to unwinding with him, to losing the trappings of being royal and simply be herself.

"Read me something." She whispered.

"What would you like to hear?" He glanced down at her, her head now resting in his lap, one hand on his knee, the way her hair was ruffled from where his fingers had been. The blush on her cheeks where the glow of the fire had touched her.

"Something appropriate." She said sleepily.

"Appropriate." He took a second, thinking what would be best. Then he removed his glasses and folded them up laying them on the edge of the couch and dropped the book a little.

His voice was a little raspy, reciting the words he had come to know so well.

"_Somewhere I have never travelled gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near."_

He took a moment, inhaled, exhaled slowly watching her face, she never moved against him, she listened intently. He lifted a hand and stroked her skin.

_"Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as spring opens touching skilfully, mysteriously her first rose."_

He recalled times when all he could do was dream of being with her in this way, of offering her such love and devotion, of sharing each precious moment of importance with her. Of growing old with her and enjoying each second of it, of waking with her each and every morning and somehow having the grace to be able to kiss that perfect mouth. The pain when realization hit that in all likelihood he would never know that. Because of who she was. Because of who he was.

"_Or if you wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing."_

He let the book fall to the side of him, used his free hand to stroke down her arm, feeling her warmth through the light material of the cardigan she wore. Tracing his fingers around her slim wrist and somehow falling into wonderment at the feel of her pulse beating there. He took a deep breath, his voice dropped deep and steady, he didn't even have to think about the words, they fell from his lips as petals on an autumn moor.

"_I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands." _

She lifted her hand, folded her fingers with his and they sat like in companionable silence. He closed his eyes for a second then realised he wanted to see her and opened them again. Marvelling at the way her hand fit in his, how her fingers stroked his so delicately, the ring that circled her finger standing for so much more than merely a token of marriage. His eyes glanced up her body, the curve her of her hips, the way their bodies curved together, fitting together as one, harmonious and pure.

He heard her sigh and looked to her face, her eyes were still closed.

"That wasn't Hardy." She said softly.

"I know, but somehow that seemed more appropriate."

He watched her smile and was overcome with the need to kiss her. Her hand left his and she turned over, laying on her back, looking up to his face. Her legs rose on the couch, her long skirt gathering around her, tugging on one side, trapped beneath his arm.

"Appropriate." She lifted a hand to his chest. "I think it was beautiful. How do you remember it from memory?"

"Oh quite easily." He traced his index finger over her forehead and down her nose. "It has always reminded me of you…" he allowed the words to rest in the air, watched the sparkle in her eyes, continued touching her skin, across her cheek to her chin then below to her neck and finally down to her chest, to the opening of her shirt. "Freckles." He smiled.

She glared and reached for his hand holding it between the both of hers and studying his fingers. "These moments Joseph, alone with you, they are the ones that mean the most."

"I know." He finally dipped his head to her forehead and kissed her, his hand unconsciously pulling on the material of her skirt until he encountered the skin of her leg.

She shifted against him, lifted her head until her mouth found his. Her kiss was slow and delicate, almost fragile in the way she sought his touch. When their lips parted she sat up a little so she could wrap one around his shoulders and press her face to his upper chest.

"Will that poem be in your collection?"

"No." He stroked her back.

"Oh?"

"That one will be saved for moments like this."


End file.
